Affaire de Coeur
by Gurubiness
Summary: Love is a troubling subject. Turmoil, pleasure, sadness. At one point in life, everyone falls in love with one thing or another, be it a person or not. But is love really existent in a world of demons, between polar opposite narcassists? ShishiXSuzuki


_**Chapter I**_

**A CRISP **breeze blew trough the mountain sides in which we sat, causing leaves to fall into the stream in front of us, rippling the water. His arm was wrapped around my shoulder, holding me close to his chest. There was no one else within our proximity; complete solitude, save the man at my side. The clouds passed overhead, blocking the brightest of suns.

I shifted my bare foot, dipping my toes into the freezing water in front of us. His eyes followed my movement, and then he smiled, I returning the smile, and pulled me closer to him. I rested my hand against his chest as he embraced me tighter, pulling at the cloth that was his shirt lightly. A small sigh escaped my lips; then his head turned to me. By reflex, my face looked to his, and my lavender eyes locked with his blue-green. My foot involuntarily slipped in the sand, his gaze darting to it, and then back to my face. He grinned at me fondly and caressed my cheek.

"This has happened before. Not quite, but you get what I'm saying. Déjà vu, y'know?" I nodded my head in reply. "The day was just like this too, wasn't it?"

He turned, leaning back a little, but still holding me close, and looked to the skies, above the mountaintops, through the tree branches, analyzing the view. He was reminiscing. I looked to him and said, with a wistful tone to my voice:

"It was hotter than this, and there were barely any clouds, unlike to-day."

I tossed my head up slightly, motioning to the clouds in the skies above us. He chuckled, and kissed the top of my head softly.

"You do remember, then. I was wondering if you had forgotten already." He laughed, turning back to the picturesque view in front of us.

I grinned, and fixed my eyes on the stream, watching the water flow. I felt his fingers pull through my hair, play with the thong holding it back; he's always told me that he liked my hair down, but I can never seem to let it fall. I felt him breathing, my face on his chest, hand next to. My hair fell, and I caught a glimpse of the shine of a single strand of violet. He ran his hand through my hair once more, smoothly.

"I'm happy you didn't forget, even though it wasn't a very important day at all…" he sighed dreamily.

My grin grew a bit, and I leaned my head up, my hair pulling away from his hand. I kissed him tenderly, our lips locked, both set of eyes closed. He kissed me back, of course, love in every particle of it. I pulled away, a smug smile on my face, my eyes half-closed.

"No matter what you say, it was important; at least it was to me. How could I forget such a memorable day?" I spoke to him softly. He beamed at me, and rested his cheek atop my head.

His face turned to the sky, and he began talking nonsense; things about martial arts, why he had chosen me to be on his team in that first, damned tournament, how honourable a samurai I was, the shade of blue in the sky, compared to how blue it was centuries ago, little things like that.

I didn't pay attention. The mentioning of that day so many years ago was a catalyst for me to recollect memories of the early years of 'us.' I sat, remembering, thinking back to those far away years; ah, the good ol' days… yeah, right. They were just peachy…!

**THE **coolbreeze brushed through my hair, blowing it off of my shoulders. Some sort of guttural sound came from inside my throat, but it wasn't loud enough for my new "peers" to hear it. We sat on the ground on the outskirts of a forest. Lightening struck behind me, illuminating the blood red sky. Clouds were shifting, their blackness contrasting and blending with the rest of the damned heavens above. The smell of smoke, burning, death lingered in the air, strong wisps of it reaching my nose now and then, due to the rare gust of serene wind. Said wisp passed my nostrils, and I wrinkled my nose again in discomfort. Thunder sounded suddenly, which hadn't happened for a good twenty minutes; I felt myself jump slightly, startled by the unexpected boom. A man, young but ugly, with a pig snout and a fat head, snickered at me. I heard him, though I chose to ignore his rudeness. Yeah, try doing that again later, and then we'll see what happens to you…

There was no point yet to this meeting. I looked around me, observing the people, the environment. There was a blond man, clad in white, wearing nothing but pants, and a vest over a shirtless chest. He was big, set with muscles, and not horribly beautiful, but not ugly either. Borderline-handsome was one phrase I decided on. He was leaning back, his hands propping him up. His 'I-don't-give-a-damn' attitude was rather contagious, I came to find out; I came in a shy, awkward young boy, and now I was peeved and indifferent to the world. He was chewing gum, though at first I thought it to be tobacco. It was somewhat stereotypical of me to think that in the man's mouth was chewing tobacco; judging by his surly, heavyset appearance, and his nonchalant posture, I would think that he'd have something more manly than a child's candy; but then again, that was also wrong of me to assume that bubblegum was only for children.

There was also the callous fool who had laughed at me. His hair was black, slicked back on his long, fat head. His eyes were small and set apart from each other, beady pupils staring maliciously around the forest. He was dressed in gi, a fishing rod beside him; hah, what a lowly title! Fisherman. He was far shorter than me, not even to my shoulder. Since the thunder boom, I felt that there would be some type of tension between us. I wasn't fond of him at all; he was so far the type of person who would clash with me, that I wanted to punch his face in, stab him, rip out his abdomen. But I wouldn't do that because he made me cross. I would do that if he insulted me. I'm far nicer than that.

I crossed my arms, fiddling with the belt holding my pants up. My gaze was locked behind the fisherman's head, staring at absolutely nothing; it's odd, but it happens to everyone, when you just start staring into nothingness, not actually analyzing what is in front of you, not really thinking, but at the same time your mind is absolutely drowning in a sea of thoughts, endless, bewildering, important, non-important, stupid… Completely odd, the way the mind works. Then, neither humans nor demons knew much about the mind, but with the technological advances now, we know of everything from chemical imbalances to the actual colour of the brain. By the time that the fisherman noticed my stare was in his general direction, my vision had gone partially blurry, and my thoughts were locked. Suddenly, my eyes shot to him. A burning hatred began to burn inside me, shooting into my throat; he had been glowering at me, making faces, positively mocking me, mimicking my pose, expression, everything. The said rage shot out of my throat, coming out in this form:

"What you mock is what will inevitably kill you; I suggest you cease your addle-minded performance before you find a sword through your head." My voice was sharp, deep, dripping with despise. I wasn't sure if anything would improve between the two of us with time, but there was most definitely going to be roughness within this team's journey, it being our fault. He scoffed at me, uncrossing his arms and chortling sardonically. A thought ran through my mind, so fast that I barely had time to recognize it. Visions. I continued my threat. "In this day and age, utter torture is no longer used regularly. I truly try my hardest to fit into this new, advanced and technological century, the time I was raised in and the current being like chalk and cheese. Nowadays, torture is frowned upon in most societies. But despite that fact, I would like more than anything for you to be placed upon a rack, your limbs tore from their sockets individually, but not before an uncountable amount of droplets hit your fore-head. One. By one. By one. I could list more, and I promise you I would act upon these actions, but sadly, torture, both physical and mental, is an anachronism, and, as I have said, I am trying my hardest to fit in now. You wouldn't want to ruin my goal and have the said inflicted upon you, would you?"

Every pair of eyes was locked on me. I felt it, though I could only see the fisherman's. I lowered my head, closing my eyes momentarily, and then raised it; my hair flipped, and I looked absolutely jovial, young, happy, innocent and pure, brimming with joy, beaming and shining. I laughed, a sweet, pretty laugh, and I sensed my peers' confusion. I couldn't stop laughing; at first it was simply to be ironic, to draw attention, but now… Now I was engulfed into a fit of giggles, unable to stop. It was still the same innocent, childish and sweet laughter, but it was unusually genuine.

A new presence has entered my proximity, but I didn't care at the time; I cared, but only subconsciously; I noticed, but didn't do anything. It was directly behind me; male, older. There was something about it. From smell and sense he was old; by intuition, and slight telepathy (which is normal for most demons), he was only so many centuries older than myself. And that is rather young. I still, even centuries afterwards, hold my first name, the ending suffix indicating that I am still a boy, not yet a grown swordsmen. Minamoto no Yoshitsune is a more famous example showing that; before he became that, an adult, he was, in his adolescence, called 'Ushiwakamaru.' Boys are given that ending at birth; if they grow up fast enough, mentally and in skill, they will adopt a new name. The rule always seemed stupid to me; but I still couldn't help but wonder what my name will be. 'Deaths young and round.' It's a degrading name. There's always been a beauty and a grimness to my name. I admit I am a rather grim person, but it is something I cannot help much, no matter how hard I try. As a boy, I would dream of names to be my future title, telling them to my sensei and my mentors. They'd laugh, and always wave me away; 'That Shishiwakamaru, always getting ahead of himself,' they'd always say. But, ah, I am getting far off track. The story of my childhood is a completely different one than this. Let us continue.

A hand fell to my shoulder. Yes, I knew it! An old hand, bony, spotted, tan, and wrinkled. The fingernails were short-bedded, grimy, with dirt under them. I was rather disgusted to have these hands touching me, but something told me I'd have an appreciation for them with time. Hesitantly, I turned my head. My eyes fell on him. Ah! Of course! He was most definitely old!

His forehead was creased, giving him a wise and thoughtful, knowledgeable appearance. He wore a black beanie, with red stripes round the bottom, atop his head; long, uncombed and unkempt grey hair fell past his shoulders, but he kept it behind him, hanging on his back. His nose was hooked, and below it sat a bushy, large moustache. His eyes were deep-set, wrinkled, with dark circles beneath them, giving them great depth. The eyes were grey of colour, matching his hair and moustache. Above them were big, bushy grey eyebrows, to match everything else on his head. His pointed ears held his hair behind them, to push it back. His chin was pointed, set finely with his bony, wrinkled long face. He was a very judicious looking man, all in all. He was dressed in an orange vest, which didn't quite match everything else he wore.

I felt my lower eye twitch, as my look darted from his face to his hand, back and forth at a rapid pace. I decided to keep to his face, so not to seem rude, having been raised to respect elders as if they were holy mean. I shrugged a little, implying for him to remove his hand from my shoulder. I wasn't sure who he was, what he wanted, or why he was here; all knowledge of any other people being here besides the two of us disappeared. His hand grasped my shoulder more tenaciously now, and he smiled at me. My brow furrowed, and my lips puckered ever-so-slightly as my nose wrinkled. I forced a smile, though it was wry, and I knew that I had this faux look to me. He laughed suddenly, a deep, hearty laugh; was I really that funny? I'd never thought so.

I began to believe that he had taken control of my mind. I heard words in a foreign voice, in modern Japanese, spoken to me; but what made me believe this was the fact that I didn't actually hear them, the voice being inside my own head. It, actually being a male voice, old and raspy, yet somehow satiny with a rugged smoothness, asked of me my name. Without thinking I blurted it out.

"My name is Shishiwakamaru, sir. I'm a samurai, looking to join this team." The old man smiled at me once more. His hand raised itself off my shoulder, and he stepped back. He leaned down, took my hands, young, smooth, cold, in his, which were bony, rough, and warm, and pulled me to my feet. I stood several heads taller than him, and I assumed that age had shrunk the poor man. He coughed, releasing my hands, and proceeded to bow low. I bowed deeply in return, showing respect to him as best I could; there was something about him that was down right eerie, not right; I'd like to say 'fake,' but it wasn't quite so, because he was real, standing in front of me, talking to me, touching me; I couldn't place my finger on it.

"Hello, Shishiwakamaru. Welcome to the team. My name is Onji, and I'm the team captain! We're all very happy to have a man of your class here in our presence, are we not? Heh-heh, we'd better be." He glanced around the group, nodding at the other two men. I smiled slightly, and bowed my head, showing thanks. He motioned for them to rise, and both did. Suddenly, all my previous hatred towards the fisherman was forgotten, as we walked in Onji's shadow.

What was wrong with this man? What was his secret? Why did he seem so odd and abnormal? Why was it that he seemed that he wasn't real, or that he was fake, either physically or something else? Why did my gut feeling tell me he was almost as young as I? Was it hope? Was it the fact that he might have a lively spirit? Who was this Onji, character, exactly, and why did he show such interest in me? Why did he call me a man, when he obviously knew that 'wakamaru' was only used for boys? Was he always to be such a mysterious person? Only time could tell me. Like the saying goes, 'good things come to those who wait.' But what was it that I was waiting for?


End file.
